


Broken Chains and Heartbreak

by lifeisgay



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bondage, Disaster Lesbians, F/F, Fantasy AU, Flashbacks, Himbo MonsterHunter!Adora, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Mutual Pining, Partial amnesia, Praise Kink, Self-Harm, Sexy Sorceress!Catra, Slow-ish burn, Suicidal Thoughts, loose inspiration from Witcher, sorry for the hiatus new chapter coming soon lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:21:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27884425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeisgay/pseuds/lifeisgay
Summary: A cursed outcast, Adora walks the fine line between slaying monsters and indulging in life’s simple pleasures. Until one evening, a familiar sorceress she thought to be long dead returns.--Three years Catra has been in hiding.Sure, maybe Catra needed to keep a low profile, but if she has truly been free of Shadow Weaver’s manipulation the past few years, maybe ahello, I’m not deadwould have sufficed.Anything, really.“I needed the time.” Catra combs a hand through her own hair, cut short but even at this length the dark tufts are unruly. “As soon as I could, I started looking for you.”Adora could cry all over again.“I missed you, Catra. I can’t believe you’re really here.”
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Minor Adora/Huntara
Comments: 50
Kudos: 177





	1. Red

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to the Witcher (inspired) Fantasy AU! This story has an independent plot from the Witcher show/games/books so there won't be any spoilers included.
> 
> This fic deals with sensitive topics, so please read the tags if you have not done so already. I do not intend to be gratuitous with these topics, but they will come up and i will provide additional CW when necessary.
> 
> there will be  
> \- worldbuilding  
> \- a LOT of hurt/comfort  
> \- angst & drama  
> \- a masked ball  
> \- a healthy dose of plot  
> \- redemption  
> \- catradora endgame. this fic WILL have a happy ending

“Fuck,” Adora grunts. 

Her vision clears from a scarlet haze as she takes in the sight of the uncoiled serpent spewing green blood into the reddish sands. The massive serpent’s head twitches in place even after its decapitation, an unpleasant fate for any creature.

One remnant of a slain Titanoboa is the blue-green residue caked onto her sword that only washes off after  _ hours _ of scrubbing. Even worse, the vinegary smell will linger for several days. 

Fucking disgusting.

Adora sighs, sand crunching beneath her armored boots as she steps toward the head of the beast with caution. The barmaid, her contractor, specifically requested a trophy, although Adora would prefer to hit the lodge showers immediately. She pokes the hooked, ivory tooth with her sword, daring the serpent to lunge at her but her blows have weakened it past its ability to retaliate. She should be safe to take what she needs.

The fang snaps under the weight of her sword.

\--

“Expect me to believe this belonged to a Titanoboa?” The barmaid eyes the trophy, arms-length and glistening-fresh, resting on the counter of the bar. “This is an Arafurae fang if I’ve ever seen one. I’ll pay you half.”

“This belongs to your Titanoboa.” Adora sighs. It’s not the first time a contractor has attempted to cheat her out of their initial agreement. “I can prove it to you.”

“How so?” The barmaid smirks, tilting her head forward as if those blunted horns pose any threat at all to her.

Adora picks up the fang. “How about I press this into your arm and let the venom speak for itself? Arafurae venom is a mild hallucinogen at best, but a common side effect of Titanoboa venom is paralysis. Sometimes temporary, most of the time permanent.” She smiles tightly, suppressing the burn of frustration gnawing at her chest.

With that, the barmaid frowns and mumbles something under her breath. She reaches under the bar for a sack of silver and counts out ten pieces, stacking them out on the counter.

“Melissa, why are you giving my favorite mutant a hard time?” A brutish arm wraps around Adora’s back, fingers stroking circles at the side of her waist.

“She’s not anymore,” Adora says, scooping her payment from the counter.

“Good,” Huntara grunts, hand wandering lower to cup her ass. She gives it a firm squeeze. “The fuck did you kill out there, blondie?”

“Ask her,” Adora replies, chest heaving, and the barmaid shoots her a death glare. “Also, I need a drink.”

“The usual?” The barmaid asks, voice gruff and bothered.

“Yeah and try not to poison it, please.” Adora takes a seat at the bar, and Huntara massages out her shoulders, working out the tension that remains long after a transformation.

The barmaid slides the glass of water down the counter, and Adora takes it and downs it greedily, her throat parched after the slaughter. 

Huntara digs into a stiff patch in Adora’s shoulder, and Adora groans, easing into her touch. One rough hand slides up her neck and grips the base of her ponytail, pulling lightly.

“Still on for tonight?” Huntara whispers in her ear.   
  
“Yes,” Adora replies hushed, curling her fingers against the empty glass. 

“That’s my good girl.” Huntara gives her ponytail a gentle tug and fucks off to wherever she likes, headed to a table of Alwynian women now. She practically owns the place, with how she carries herself, the commandeering tone she uses.

“Another?” Adora asks the barmaid. 

This time, the barmaid returns with a new glass of water in her hand, and Adora feels a slight suspicion of poison, but it wouldn’t matter. She’d drink it anyway. 

“Hey,” the barmaid says, lowering her tone. “Sorry, I nearly stiffed you.... S’not about payment  _ exactly. _ I let my personal feelings get in the way of our contract, and I’m sorry.”   


_ Oh.  _

That’s oddly understandable.

“Well, I appreciate you telling me that,” Adora offers and presses the glass to her lips, taking another sip of water. “And no hard feelings, really.”

“You sure?” Melissa asks in a gravelly voice, seeming genuine.

“Definitely,” Adora assures her. At the end of the day, business is business. She is not trying to make any new enemies out here. The Waste is by far the best place for her to carry on with her life, a place where she can serve her purpose while endangering as few people as possible. 

On a late afternoon, the Waste Bar & Grill is loud and teeming with life, one of the only sanctuaries from law and war, where outcasts can exist freely. Here, at least no one gets in Adora’s way and she is thankful for it. When she had exiled herself from Bright Moon after a few close calls with civilian encounters, Bow and Glimmer didn’t do much to stop her from leaving, anyway, not after they saw what she was capable of doing—how she could really  _ be _ when her emotions took over.

Adora takes another sip of her water. It doesn’t taste like Titanoboa venom, not that it’d matter much anyway. Shouts rise behind her followed by a loud  _ crash  _ as a few glasses break on the floorboards. Another day, another quarrel in the waste. Adora could deal with the squabble, but it’s not her business. Better to keep her emotions to herself when she can. She curls her fingers around the cool glass when a familiar voice growls from the other side of the bar.

“Listen, flower-fuckers. If you’d prefer to  _ not _ gouge out your own eyeballs, you’ll do the right thing and take a step back.” 

Adora smashes the glass between her fingers, water and shards spilling all over the bar table.

“Seriously?” Melissa reaches for a rag to clean the mess.

Adora rises from her seat, turning her head toward the source of a voice she hasn’t heard in three years, belonging to someone she thought to be long dead. Four ex-Plumerian soldiers square up, guarding the entrance to the bar. Adora’s eyes dilate with fresh heat, and she takes a deep breath to cool down, eyes flitting before they calm.

“Light scum,” one of them mutters, clenching a fist as if he bears any threat at all. He steps aside, gesturing for his companions to do the same. “Carry on, wretch.” 

“Thought so, and fuck you too,” the sorceress breathes, passing through them without much care. She pulls down the hood of her black cloak, toeing around the shattered glass on the wood panels. 

A pair of blue and amber eyes locks on her from across the bar, and Adora freezes in place. The sorceress’ face softens and she drops her hands to her sides.

“Hey, Adora. Miss me?” Catra rasps with a weak smile, stepping closer.

Adora doesn’t know whether to run away in fear or  _ worse, _ succumb to the instinct to take care of the threat Catra poses. None of it matters because Adora brings Catra into her arms, a tear gliding down her cheek as Catra buries herself into her chest with a strained whimper. Adora can’t move or say a word as she strokes Catra along her back, who lets out muffled sobs into Adora’s chest.

“You’re here,” Adora whispers, holding her close. She wants so badly for this to be real. That she’s really got Catra back in her life. That there’s no more trickery or manipulation keeping them apart. She can let herself have this for now, even if it turns out to mean nothing.

Even if it gets her killed.

\--

“Water,” Catra blurts and she wrinkles her eyes, grimacing. “No... make it a Cherry Elderblood, will you? Two, actually.” Adora’s eyes trace along a new scar cast down her face—two hooks from the left side of her jaw extending down her neck, shining with an almost lustrous quality.

“I’m not interested.” Adora holds up her own water.    
  
“I’ll be drinking both,” Catra replies and presses her lips together. 

“Oh,” Adora sighs, and she can’t help but clench her jaw, even though she needs to relax. She searches Catra’s amber and blue eyes for signs of manipulation. 

_ Would Shadow Weaver want her to be drunk?  _

“I thought you were dead, Catra. I haven’t heard a word about you in three years.”

“Been in hiding since Plumeria fell,” she grumbles, claws digging into the wooden table. She looks over Adora’s shoulder for the barmaid. “Where the fuck are my drinks?”   


“You’re not still…” Adora swallows, her throat dry. It feels useless to ask a question like this, but she tries anyway. “Are you—”

“Shadow Weaver can’t manipulate me anymore, Adora,” Catra interrupts, scratching the back of her neck. “She’s weak, has been for some time now.”

“Really?” Adora gulps and shuts her eyes, brows furrowed. As long as Shadow Weaver is a threat, so is  _ Adora. _ She needs to hear something convincing, and she hopes Catra will say anything to appease her of her worries. “How did you break free?” 

Melissa returns with two Elderbloods and another water, and hands reach greedily for their respective drinks. Catra downs one, gulping rapidly. She sets the empty glass down with a long breath, shaking her head as the alcohol hits her system.

“Simple, I learned how to protect myself,” Catra mumbles. “Fuck me, this drink is  _ strong.” _ She picks up the second drink, sipping this one decidedly slower.

“What do you mean by that?” Adora asks her, still wary as she watches Catra’s mannerisms. Catra speaks with the confidence of a puppet, but she’s always been this way. Cocky, impatient, calloused. Some of her many virtues. 

“Not important. I can explain it all later,” she says curtly and offers a feeble smile. “I want to hear about you, Adora.”

Adora’s heart is about as shattered as the glass she destroyed minutes ago. 

It’s been seven years since they’ve been able to talk, since they were young mages back in Light Spinner’s coven—not fighting on the opposite ends of a magical terror war. Adora can let Catra in on some things about her life, just nothing Shadow Weaver could possibly use against her. Although, if Shadow Weaver  _ is _ manipulating Catra, she’s also tracking her location as they speak, making Adora a target by proxy.

“Bright Moon decided I was too much of a liability, not much of an asset to them anymore. Glimmer and Bow didn’t have to say anything for me to get the hint. They check in on me here sometimes, but things haven’t been the same for a long time. The waste is where I belong, truly. I have plenty of hunting contracts, and no one stands in my way.” 

Catra takes in a deep breath as if she’s inhaling all of this information. 

“Would you go back to Bright Moon if you could?” she asks and takes another sip of the Elderblood, shuddering as it goes down.

“What? I don’t have a choice,” Adora says. Here is the one and only place she can do more good than harm. 

“But what if things were different?” she asks and Adora can’t begin to fathom it. Returning is an impossibility. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about it,” Catra says, folding her arms, eyeing the remainder of her drink longingly.

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” Adora chews the inside of her mouth. “After all of this time, why did you come here?”

Three years Catra has been in hiding. 

Sure, maybe Catra needed to keep a low profile, but if she has truly been free of Shadow Weaver’s manipulation the past few years, maybe a  _ hello, I’m not dead _ would have sufficed. 

Anything, really.   


“I needed the time.” Catra combs a hand through her own hair, cut short but even at this length the dark tufts are unruly. “As soon as I could, I started looking for you.”   
  
Adora could cry all over again. 

“I missed you, Catra. I can’t believe you’re really here.” 

“I—uh... Listen, I saw a Skell waiting outside.” Catra clears her throat, some of her drink must have gone down the wrong tube. “He–” _ hic _ “–gave me a bit of trouble on my way in.”

_ Not now.  _

“Damn,” Adora huffs, standing up from her seat, one hand already reaching for the sword slung over her back. A Skell might be trouble for an average civilian but one is an easy kill for her. She won’t even have to turn. “Promise me you’ll stay here, and I’ll be right back. Okay?”

Catra takes another sip of her drink. “Yeah.”

Adora stands up from the barstool. Maybe she shouldn’t leave Catra alone in case she is under Shadow Weaver’s manipulation, but Adora can’t let a Skell wander around for too long. Skells are pure trouble, nothing worth saving. There is no humanity left to save in such mindless creatures.

She pushes her way through the same rowdy group of Plumerians on her way out. One of them grumbles  _ mutant  _ under his breath, a dull, unremarkable insult to Adora. Nothing new or creative there.

Outside, as the sun sets, cool night air rolls in, picking up the coarse grains of sand from the desert surface. Adora scours the barren landscape until she spots the unmistakable shell of a body dressed in white and silver, flowing purple cape, eyes glowing green—trained to kill.

Back against the outer wall of the establishment, the Skell takes a drag of the blumestock pressed between his lips.

“Ready to die, fucker?” Adora grunts, sword unsheathed and pointed at her target. 

The Skell inhales sharply and coughs, spitting the blumestock into the sand. “You are making a mistake,” he starts, voice sinking into a lower register, raising his hands as if to surrender. “I do not wish for any trouble. I am simply waiting for a friend.”

Adora presses her sword against his throat. “How many are dead at your hands, huh? What makes you think your life is worth saving?” 

_ “Please _ ,” the Skell groans, falling to his knees, wringing his hands together, a weak ploy for sympathy. “I beg of you. I am not one of the others. I am a Defective.” Those green eyes stare up at her, unblinking and empty.   
  
The first time Adora spared a Skell’s life, the vessel wiped out an entire settlement of civilians along the shores of Salineas. She will never make that mistake again. 

“Yeah,” Adora grunts, raising her sword. “That’s what they all say.” 

With a swift blow, the body collapses into the sand, blood oozing from its neck, forming a pool with orange hues from the setting sun. Adora waits.

Silence.

There is no unholy scream when life is torn away from the being.

Only eerie silence as the blood mixes with red sand.

“She lied,” Adora whispers, sheathing her sword, chest burning with fresh betrayal. She falls to her knees, lost in a wave of shock. Defectives are so far and few between, she’s never personally encountered one before despite killing hundreds, even thousands of Skells.

Sand crunches behind her.

“What did you do, Adora?” A smug voice sends a shiver down Adora’s spine.

“Did you know he was a Defective?” Adora snaps, the words hot off her tongue. She turns to face Catra who stands across from her, a thick set of chains resting at her feet.

_ Viridium chains? No, certainly steel.  _ Resistant to magic, viridium would be a sheer impossibility. The chains bear heavy weight, far too heavy to be carried by someone of her size. 

“I knew what he was,” Catra replies with a firm gaze. She carries a  _ bomb _ that flickers red light in the palm of her hand. 

“You’re still being manipulated,” Adora realizes. She is not afraid of the bomb, but she fears the chains more than anything else. It could only mean that Shadow Weaver sent Catra here to capture her. How could Adora be so stupid? Of course, it was all too good to be true. It always has been. 

“Naive, as expected. You were easier to trick than I thought.” Catra laughs, cruel and rough. “Why would you ever think I’d help you?” 

“Because...” Adora shuts her eyes and tries to  _ remember _ , but all she sees is the black veil, a dark shadow that obscures the last few months they spent together in Light Spinner’s coven, before everything went to absolute shit. “I thought that you wanted to be close...maybe make amends?”

“We were never close, Adora.” Catra winces, the orb in her hand glowing redder with each passing second. “You’re pathetic. You always have been.”

The bomb swells in Catra’s hand, beginning to burn closer to a shade of white.

“Get away from me. You need to leave,  _ now,”  _ Adora pleads, heat rising to her face, thirst for vengeance and destruction making her mouth water.

“For fucks sake,” Catra yells as she hurls the object away from them both, where it combusts in a loud explosion, a low  _ boom  _ resonating throughout the desert oblivion. 

Adora scoffs. “Too afraid to kill me?”

Catra eyes the chains at her own feet.

Adora should have known this wasn’t real—that it was too good to be true. Catra has been manipulated to kill her, and if she  _ wasn’t  _ sent to do it by some chance, then worse, she’s doing it of her own accord.

Blood boils in Adora’s veins. “Catra, you need to get the fuck away. I mean it.” 

She tries to shut her eyes, but the flame in her chest snaps them open, red-hot. She looks down at the ground when her usual strategy doesn’t work, until her neck snaps up to face Catra again who stands still. 

Catra’s hand twists into an impossible form, fingers curling inward as the chains by her feet begin to twitch. She falls to her knees, weakened by her own magic while the chains rise above her head, links outstretched. 

Three rows of chains hurtle toward Adora, one sweeping for her legs and the other two nearly clotheslining her upper body, but Adora’s legs launch her into a high jump, chains flying underneath her. They miss, dragging against the sand, far out of reach.

Adora lands, hands tensing and swelling, muscles bulging and stretching out her chestplate, the ground lowering beneath her as she grows taller.

“Shit...” Catra whispers, collapsing into the sand, hopelessly drained of power. She backpedals on her hands and feet, increasing the distance between them but only by so much. “Adora, please...”

It’s too late for her.

Hot rage shoots up to Adora’s head, sickening heat spreads to her chest and out into the corner of limbs while control slips from her grasp.

“Goodnight kitten,” Adora whispers. Her mouth curves into a wicked smile, and she cannot fight the arm reaching for her sword slung over her shoulder. 

The crimson curtain falls before her eyes—save for a small, black silhouette crawling at her feet, one swing away from certain death.


	2. Edge of Midnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adora and Catra are both ~25 in the present timeline for reference.

**Catra (10 years ago)**

Storm rages on the roof of Horde tower while the mages hold glass bottles in hand, waiting in silence for Light Spinner’s direction. Nearby, lightning strikes a tree by the cliffside, and roaring seas crash along the Fright Isles. 

Light Spinner has always preferred to throw the young mages into their lessons headfirst, despising the traditional methods used in the Bright Moon coven. Although, learning from a book sounds far better to Catra than having her arms, legs, and neck weighed down by the saturation of water in her fur.

“Lonnie,” Light Spinner drawls, boots clicking on the floor of the roof tower, “you will be the first to demonstrate.” As the storm picks up, Light Spinner adjusts the hood on her white, viridium-laced cloak while the rest of the mages become more drenched with each passing minute.

Catra shivers, water soaked completely through her robe as she waits. Light Spinner insists upon throwing them in the fire with her teaching methods, one time _quite literally_. Catra can only hope that no one gets hurt this time.

Lonnie approaches the center of the circle, where she raises her arm to the sky, glass bottle in hand, eyes shut tightly, muscles tensed as she braces for impact.

 _CRACK_. A burst of light flashes and fades into black. Catra’s eyes readjust to see Lonnie curled into a ball on the ground, rain pouring down on her. Rogelio rushes to her aid, taking Lonnie in his arms, pulling her aside. Kyle joins them as they cower off to the side to check on her. 

Lonnie coughs in Rogelio’s arms while they sit down. _Thank gods, she’s alive._ Not many people could survive a strike of that force. But she’ll be alright. She _has_ to be. 

“That is not what I was hoping to see,” Light Spinner sighs, and she’s probably frowning under the red mask that hides the lower half of her face.

_Selfish, cruel bitch._

“What, were you hoping to kill her?” Catra snarls, face burning, chest tight with each shallow breath. 

“You will stay silent and wait your turn, Catra,” Light Spinner admonishes. She paces around them once more until she reaches Adora, resting a palm on Adora’s shoulder.

“Adora, now you will capture the light.”

Catra gulps and bites her lip to shut herself up, if not to protect herself then to keep Adora from Light Spinner’s harm. Adora turns to face Catra, her face twisted in fear, eyebrows furrowed, lip quivering as she takes shaky breaths.

 _Relax._ Catra isn’t sure if she’s telling herself that or wishing Adora could hear it because they both need it desperately. 

Eyes glowing with renewed focus, Adora steps to the center of the circle of mages. She extends the glass bottle in her hand up to the gloomy skies.

Catra closes her eyes.

_CRACK._

When Catra opens her eyes, Adora is still standing, _oh_ _thank gods_ , smiling in her triumph, a glowing ball of light bouncing against the walls of her glass jar.

“Very good, Adora.” Light Spinner collects the bottle from Adora’s hand, for her own use. _Coward,_ ordering her mages to do her own dirty work, throwing their necks on the line for her own gain. Piercing green eyes lock with Catra’s now.

“Catra,” Light Spinner orders, gesturing to the middle of the group, “you will perform the exercise.” 

Catra’s ears fall flat against her head, and she takes a deep breath, approaching the center of the circle. She glances at Adora whose jaw is clenched tightly, hands curled into fists, one foot braced behind herself like she’s ready to lunge forward and catch Catra if she falls. 

Gray clouds loom above her, full moon tucked away behind the thick fog and rain. Catra extends her glass bottle to the sky. 

A flash of bright light strikes, and Catra’s ears ring while she collapses, the world around her shifting to black. 

When her senses return, she is being cradled in Adora’s arms, soft blue eyes trembling above her.

“Hey, Catra,” Adora mumbles, holding Catra in her arms, face dripping with rain and possibly tears onto Catra’s face.

Adora leans closer, holding her tightly, and Catra lets out a weak cough. She feels like she is on fire, electricity coursing through her veins. Burning with anger, she turns to face Light Spinner, extending the same arm she held up into the air moments ago. 

From the palm of Catra’s hand, a bolt of lightning shoots out, headed for Light Spinner’s face. 

In a swift motion, Light Spinner deflects the surge of light with the arm of her cloak.

“You are an utter failure, Catra. I have taught you nothing if not the importance of maintaining the purity of your physical form, and yet...” She snaps on a pair of white gloves laced with viridium as if to make her point clearer. “You contaminate your vessel with these antics, and eventually there will be nothing left of you. Only the purest of vessels can perform the most powerful magic.”

Catra stays silent, fighting the whimper that threatens to pour out of her, hiding any sign of weakness that Light Spinner could use to hurt her.

“Dismissed. All of you. I have seen enough for this evening.” Light Spinner takes Adora’s bottle of lightning with her and descends down the spiraling steps, the other mages trickling down behind her.

Adora still holds Catra in her arms, rain pouring down on them both.

“I’m sorry,” Adora whispers, pulling Catra into her chest. “I don’t even think I understand what just happened, but I’m glad you’re okay.”  
  
“Me too,” Catra replies, not totally sure what happened either. She was supposed to use the glass vessel to capture the light, not her own. Catra grips Adora’s back, claws digging into Adora’s robes, but Adora doesn’t wince or pull away as Catra’s hold tightens. “Thank you for staying.”

“Of course I would stay for you. You’re all I have.”

Catra pulls back from the hug and raises her left hand to cup Adora’s cheek. Knowing Adora would protect her at any cost, Catra could kiss her right now.

“You too,” Catra says blinking drops of rain out of her eyes. Thunder rumbles in the distance. “Can you help me up? I’m freezing my ass off here.” 

Adora chuckles and scoops Catra into her arms, lifting her off the ground in a Salinean bridal carry. “How’s this?”

Catra smiles, her face burning so hot, not even the howling winds and pouring rain could cool her off.

“Perfect,” she whispers as Adora carries her down the steps of Horde Tower.

* * *

**Adora (Now)**

A hazy red fog obscures her vision with nothing but a dark shadow crawling at her feet. The shadow speaks, but it’s a _threat_. And threats must be destroyed.

“Please, Adora… I know you’re still in there.”

The sword in her raised hand is very heavy, demanding to be swung. She needs to crash it into the silhouette. 

With a _clunk_ , she strikes the object at her feet.

“Adora…” the voice pleads again as she drives her sword to the ground. 

_Who is Adora?_

“For fuck’s sake!” the shadow screams as her sword strikes the target with another _clang_. “My legs... you’re hurting me…it’s me...Catra...”

At once, the sword falls from Adora’s hands as the crimson fog is lifted from her vision, muscles shrinking, veins contracting back into her arms. The shadow at her feet comes into focus once more.

Catra’s body is sprawled across the desert sand at Adora’s feet. Her eyes are closed and her body is limp, but she is breathing, _gods have mercy._ At first glance, Catra’s legs appear to be broken, but there is no pool of blood at her feet, no traces of blood _at all._ She must be unconscious from the pain alone if not from blood loss.

It’s a miracle she’s alive.

Adora scoops Catra into her arms, tears falling down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, carrying Catra’s unconscious body back into the Waste Bar. “I’m so, so… so fucking sorry.” Her hands tremble but she tightens her hold on Catra, not wanting to drop her. 

As she enters the bar, the same group of rowdy Plumerians scowl in her direction, and Adora feels her eyes burn hot again, but she suppresses her feelings, not wanting to let her emotions overwhelm her.

She climbs up the flight of stairs with Catra in her arms to the upper quarters, to her own bedroom. Adora lowers Catra gently on the bed and pulls up the hem of her cloak to examine Catra’s injuries. Both of Catra’s legs are certainly broken, but there are no signs of wounds or cuts, only slight bruising like she had been hit with a blunt object, not Adora’s sharp and heavy Sword of Protection.

Adora notices the palm of Catra’s hand is caked in dried blood, and she runs to the bathroom to get a cloth. When she returns, she runs the damp washcloth over Catra’s palm to cleanse the wound… except, there isn’t a wound visible. _Whatever it is,_ it’s already healed, a shining silvery scar in its place.

Catra’s eyelids flutter as she takes a wheezing, throttled breath. Adora falls to her knees at the side of the bed and strokes a hand up to Catra’s hair, wanting to soothe her without waking Catra if her body needs to rest. 

“Adora…stay.” Catra rasps, gaze falling softly on Adora’s face, holding a tenderness that Adora doesn’t deserve. _I hurt her. She’s in pain because of what I did to her._

“Shadow Weaver must have manipulated you, Catra. She must have taken control and… there was a bomb, and _chains_.” Adora tries to recall everything she saw, how terrifying it was to see Catra’s form drained in front of her from her own magic. “She wanted you to kill me or capture me. Or both.” After years of slaying monsters and Skells, Adora has resigned to that fate when the day comes. As disposable as she feels, she could never let her body be used for Shadow Weaver’s gain.

“Shadow Weaver hasn’t been able to control me in three years, Adora.”  
  
“Then what was _that?”_ Adora’s chest burns in her fury, that Catra could do this of her own volition. That maybe, after all of this time, Catra truly has been evil. That even once Shadow Weaver’s manipulation spell had been broken, Catra could still betray her. “You wanted me to murder a Defective in cold blood! You wanted me to kill him, a traitor to Shadow Weaver’s army of Skells.” Adora feels her eyes burn again and she tries to shut out her anger, suppress it, let her body cool down. _  
_  
“Adora, your eyes are going red,” Catra says and pauses for a moment, contemplating Adora’s thought, waiting for her to cool down. “Listen, I don’t understand what’s happening to me okay? Maybe she _did_ have a breakthrough after all. Push aside my hair, will you?”  
  
Adora grudgingly complies, pushing aside the short tufts, revealing the glowing manipulation chip, locked to the back of Catra’s neck with viridium hooks, still active.

“It’s not broken,” Adora says, unsure if she’s more relieved or concerned by the revelation. “She’s still controlling you, Catra.” The knot of anger in her stomach unfolds, and she feels weaker with each breath.

_Catra got hurt because Shadow Weaver was manipulating her, and I believed it was real._

_I hurt her._

_I’m a fucking monster._

Adora falls to her knees.

“I’m so sorry, Catra. I—I lost control, and I shouldn’t have turned… Shadow Weaver, she’s still manipulating you. I should have known better—”

“It’s not your fault you turned, Adora. The pain and guilt of murdering an honest Defective could do that to anyone.” Catra winces and shuts her eyes tightly. “Please, can you cast a relief spell? I’m too weak to use my own... I will need to focus all of my energy on healing as quickly as possible.”

Adora holds a gentle palm above Catra's legs and waves it across in a line and a sweeping hook. Adora’s casting abilities could _generously_ be described as rudimentary, having not completed her eternal cleansing with the rest of the mages, but a weak attempt is better than nothing. 

Catra sighs as the spell takes effect, her expression oddly calm for someone who has experienced such a close brush to death. Maybe Shadow Weaver is suppressing Catra’s emotions to try to gain Adora’s trust again. Maybe Shadow Weaver was only able to control Catra for that brief moment. Adora can only hope that she is really talking to Catra now. 

The bedroom door creaks open, and Adora turns her head toward the source of the sound.

Huntara stands in the doorway, taking in the sight of Adora kneeling over Catra’s limp form. “So I take it we aren’t on for tonight anymore, blondie?” She paces toward the bed. “What happened to her?”  
  
Adora swallows a lump in her throat. “I turned.” 

“Shit,” Huntara whispers, standing up behind Adora, knees pressing into her back. “She’s alive, that’s more than most.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Catra croaks and arches her back up, wincing in pain then lying flat again. _“Fuck.”_

“Anything I can help with?” Huntara asks, placing a study hand on Adora’s shoulder. She presses like she usually does to relieve Adora’s tension, but Adora is too tightly wound to enjoy it.

“Can you shackle me? Catra needs me here, but I don’t want to hurt her if I turn again.” In the room, there is a set of viridium shackles hooked up to a long chain, resilient to her magic and strength. Adora always feels safer when she’s wearing them, especially when she’s already on edge.

Catra twists her head, eyeing the two of them then shuts her eyes tightly. “Adora, it’s okay, really. You shouldn’t chain yourself up for my sake. And I don’t need _you_ here at all, meathead.” 

“What’s her damn problem?” Huntara grunts, reaching for the shackles. She clamps them onto Adora’s wrists, the metal cold to the touch, a bit loose so that if she transforms, there’s room for growth. “If you need me, I’ll be downstairs talking— _or maybe more than talking_ —with some of those Alwynian women. Try not to need me.” She winks and closes the door, leaving them alone again.

Adora can’t bother to fathom the Alwynian orgy that’s about to happen later, her focus is attached to the crippled sorceress lying in her bed.

“Adora…” Catra whispers, eyeing the chains on Adora’s wrists. “You don’t need to wear those.”

“I have to stay like this, Catra. I don’t want this to happen again. Ever.” The heavy chains carry enough slack to let her go about the room, but a simple lever will send her hurtling to the wall if need be. “It’s not a big deal. If I start to turn, you can pull that lever beside you, and I’ll be restrained.”

The long viridium chains and shackles hook up to the upper wall against the bed, connected to a lever beside the bed. Acting as a safety mechanism when pulled, the lever will drop a weight and tighten the shackles against the wall, restricting Adora’s movement if she turns. Huntara has only needed to use it once with her, but Adora still refuses to go without the safety, wary of how her body might react to intimacy.

If Shadow Weaver manipulates Catra again, then Adora needs to make sure that Catra can be safe, that she can be here to protect her, to preserve Catra’s autonomy in case Shadow Weaver takes control of her mind and body again. But Catra needs to be kept safe from _her_ too. 

Catra opens her mouth to speak, but pauses, and Adora hovers over her, ready to help Catra with whatever she might need.

“Can you please hold me?” Catra asks, voice wavering, eyes searching Adora’s face. 

“Are you sure?” Adora hesitates. She has thought about spending time in Catra’s bed like this before when they were young mages, but something feels different this time. Her stomach sinks. “Do I need to wrap your legs before you settle down for the night?”

“No, I can heal like this…just need to rest my body.” Catra’s chest slows into deeper heavier breaths, body calming as the adrenaline wears off and the pain relief spell dampens the sensations. “And I’m sure.”

Adora gulps, lying down on the bed next to Catra. She isn’t quite sure how to go about this in her chains, but she cautiously slides an arm under Catra’s neck and drapes another arm across her stomach. She adjusts so that the pressure of the chains only push against her own body, avoiding Catra. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Catra whispers, eyes fluttering before they lock with Adora’s gaze, yellow and blue eyes holding warmth, yet they feel so far and distanced. Adora wants to believe that whatever Catra is feeling now is real, not another Shadow Weaver trick.

Adora sighs, realizing her heart had been racing as it begins to slow into dull thuds. Catra is _safe and alive_ , a far luckier fate than most who have crossed Adora in her turned state have met.

Catra wrinkles her brows and traces a finger from her uninjured hand from Adora’s forehead where her scar misses her eye and hooks lower across her cheek, out toward her ear. “What do you remember?” she asks, voice light, eyes trembling. “Before Shadow Weaver took your memories away.”

“Well, I’ve always wondered how I got this nasty scar.” Adora lets out a soft laugh and realizes she’s been tracing circles on Catra’s stomach before she slows to a stop. “People ask, expecting a badass story, and I have to tell them that I don’t even know. It’s kind of… it’s embarrassing to be honest.”

Catra bites her lip and stares over Adora’s shoulder. “It was Shadow Weaver. She hurt you, Adora. I’m sorry.”  
  
_Of course._ Adora doesn’t know why she expected any different. 

“Do you remember anything else?” Catra asks and Adora wonders if they can piece together her missing memories. They haven't been able to properly talk in seven years, up to the point where the few months are trapped away in Adora’s mind.

“I—You mean before Light Spinner’s face was…?” Adora can’t bring herself to finish that thought, the image permanently etched into her brain. If Shadow Weaver could have taken anything at all from her, Adora wishes that Shadow Weaver had taken vision of the brutal aftermath from her memory, so Adora could forget what happened after the cleansing ritual.

Catra nods, slow and solemn.

Adora swallows, but it doesn’t make her throat feel any less choked and dry. “I remember you talked about wanting to go to Plumeria for the day, and after that it’s like a black curtain is hung up where those memories are. I can’t see or recall anything past that point. Over a few months’ time.”

“Yeah,” Catra mumbles, and a tear slips out from her amber eye. “You missed a lot of ugly shit. Nothing worth remembering.”

“Are you okay?” Adora’s lip quivers in her concern and she bites it down. “Do you want me to perform another cast?” she asks, hoping she can do anything to relieve Catra from her pain.

“No, I’ll be fine,” Catra growls through gritted teeth. The muscles in her neck tense as she forms a thought. “Anyway what is your relationship like with _her?_  
  
“You mean with Huntara?” Adora asks as Catra clenches her teeth in stubborn silence. Things with Huntara have always been simple and straightforward, how they both preferred it to be. “It’s… sexual more than anything else really. Give and take sort of thing.”

Catra’s ears fall flat against her head and she hesitates, lips parted before continuing. “So...she doesn’t mind that you’re holding me right now?”

“Oh no, not at all. She’s going to bed with a few Alwynian women tonight,” Adora explains. “She’s not the type to face much rejection.” Adora’s chest brims with heat, maybe a shred of jealousy, but she stifles it.

Catra softens in her arms. Her eyes flick across Adora’s face, and Adora leans closer, careful to not brush her arm or the viridium chains against Catra’s legs. They settle down in silence, and Adora desperately wants to enjoy this moment with Catra, despite the horrid circumstances. Catra will be okay. She will live, and she will heal. At any cost, Adora won’t let Shadow Weaver hurt Catra again.  
  
“Shadow Weaver is gaining strength.” Catra breaks the silence between them. “I’ve noticed her tracking my location more often the past few months. I’ll need to get this chip off soon.”  
  
“But it’s made of viridium. How do you expect to remove it?” Adora asks. There is a reason that so few mages escape Light Spinner’s coven after their eternal cleansing. Their manipulation chips are embedded with viridium, and even the purest of mages cannot fight against the magical resistance properties of such a metal. 

“In the Valley of the Lost, there’s a dark magic shop where I can get what I need to remove it. I’ll be healed in a week's time and we can go down there together.”

“Only a week?” Adora raises her eyebrows, a bit doubtful. Catra’s legs are both broken and the wrist of her right arm is not in good shape either.

“I heal quickly,” Catra says and she pauses. She doesn’t bother to explain any further, but Adora will stay as long as Catra needs her so it doesn’t matter anyway. Adora will wear the viridium shackles for a week if that’s what it’ll take. 

Adora nods while Catra sighs in her arms, slack chains gradually warming from Adora’s body heat. More than anything, Adora wants to stay close to Catra although she isn’t exactly sure _why_. Catra feels good in her arms, but this isn’t safe for either of them. Adora poses a threat to anyone she lets close to her, especially if Catra could be taken under Shadow Weaver’s manipulation at any moment. 

Adora sighs. Maybe she can protect Catra without bringing her anymore harm. When she’s in these chains, they are both safer. If they can remove Catra’s viridium chip, Shadow Weaver won’t be able to manipulate Catra anymore, won’t be able to track them. They can actually be safe.

“ _Ah_ ,” Catra whines, grimacing. “I can feel her tracking me again. We’ll need to start moving as soon as I can walk.”

“Once you’re ready, we’ll get that chip off you.” 

“It’s going to hurt.” Catra frowns and nuzzles closer to Adora’s shoulder.

“I’ll be here to take care of you during the whole thing. I can cast—”  
  
“No, I’m not worried about me. There’s a price to pay when you cut through viridium—we’ll need a special tool. And if you agree to help me, it’s going to hurt you too. More than it’ll hurt me.”

“Whatever you need. I’ll be here for you,” Adora says and Catra’s lip curls into a soft smile.

It’s an ominous warning, but Adora has already accepted her fate, molding her body against Catra’s while they lie in bed together. Adora will do whatever it takes to make things right again. Even if it hurts.


	3. For a Price

For seven mornings, Adora wakes in a tangled mess of limbs and chains, because Catra asks Adora to stay by her side every night. 

Adora brings her meals three times a day, and after only a couple of days, Catra is able to walk again. By the seventh day she regains her full agility. The guilt of Catra’s pain and hurt still gnaws at Adora’s chest, but Catra has healed at a miraculous pace, already performing normal activities with ease. 

“I’m ready to go to the Valley of the Lost,” Catra says one early morning, tightening the straps on her boots.

“Already?” Adora asks, incredulous even though she has seen Catra heal before her eyes. 

“Yeah. I told you I’d only need a week, and I was right.” 

There is some risk of them traveling together, but after weighing out the pros and cons, they both come to the conclusion that the risk is necessary. Catra needs her manipulation chip removed, so Shadow Weaver won’t be able to track or control her. Adora will accompany her on the journey in case they encounter any monsters through the Waste.

“I just want you to be able to trust me again,” Catra says. “If we get this chip off, you’ll trust me, right?”

“Of course,” Adora replies.

They had been close growing up together in Light Spinner’s coven. Through good times and bad, they always had each other at the end of each day.

Seven years ago, Adora trusted Catra with her life, and if only to make things right again, she has to believe _this_ Catra has not changed. She owes this much to her, after everything that Catra has been through. 

* * *

**Catra (9 years ago)**

Shortly past midnight, Catra sneaks out from her dorm for her nightly sleuthing ritual. Really, it’s an excuse to keep herself from drifting into another round of nightmares. 

With Melog pacing at her heels and grazing her calves, Catra wanders down the candlelit hallways, enjoying the sweet calm and quiet emptiness of the night that levels her head and keeps her sane. But unlike other nights, she hears hushed voices as she approaches the nook of Light Spinner’s personal library. 

Catra peers into the library to see Kyle, Lonnie, and Rogelio digging through the forbidden literature—dark magic studies, books sprawled about a round table. Light Spinner insists upon teaching them by example rather than utilizing theory and other learnings, refusing to show them this material until after their eternal cleansings in a couple of years’ time. Only once they are cleansed are they permitted to access the deep knowledge of dark magic.

As tempted as Catra is to join them in this bout of delinquency, she hears the dreadful click of distant footsteps from around the corner. She scoops Melog into her arms and hides behind the corner of the next hallway, shallowing her breath, not wanting to be caught sneaking out at late hours. The other mages’ fates have already been sealed, but she can still protect her own.

 _Stay quiet_ , she thinks to Melog, hoping they can understand that their usual late-night walk is not going as planned.

Catra pricks her ears to listen, back pressed to the wall, but Light Spinner is ominously quiet as she waits. 

When Light Spinner speaks, her voice is quiet yet stern. “You fools have disobeyed my direct orders. You know you are _not_ permitted to read such literature until after your eternal cleansings.”  
  
“We only wanted to learn more about Wednesday’s lesson,” Kyle whispers, and there is a loud _thud_ as a book is clamped shut.

With Melog still held in her arms, Catra dares to edge closer to the room, one eye peeking into the small library to get a glimpse of the scene. Rogelio and Kyle sit at the round table, closing the books one by one while Lonnie runs hands through her braided hair, face twisted with fear. 

Even with only a view of the back of Light Spinner’s white cloak, Catra can hear her wicked smile. “Your memories of the past day will be wiped as punishment for this behavior.” In her left hand, Light Spinner holds a book bound in a burgundy cover.  
  
“Please,” Lonnie begs, falling to her knees and wringing her hands together. “We’re sorry we disobeyed you.”  
  
“As you should be.” Light Spinner raises her right hand into the air and bends her four fingers halfway down the knuckle and she takes turns directing the energy to each mage one by one. The three mages are transfixed as the spell sets in, wiping away their newly acquired knowledge.

“You will not attempt this again.”

“Where are we?” Kyle groans, his voice panicked yet tired as he takes in his surroundings, coming out of the cloud of his own oblivion. “Shit…”

Rogelio wheezes as his senses return, and Catra creeps back down the hallway out of view.

“You will stay out of my library or suffer worse consequences next time.”

“Yes, Light Spinner,” Lonnie whispers and Catra hides behind the corner. She hears the shuffling noises of books sliding into their shelves. 

“Back to your dormitories. Now.”

The three mages slip away, and Catra holds her breath as their steps grow distant, heading down the other hallway.

 _Don’t you dare meow._ Melog squirms in Catra’s arms trying to leap out of her hold, but Catra keeps them close to her, snug against her chest. 

The click of Light Spinner’s boots echoes down the hallway and ceases for a moment.

Still holding her breath, Catra waits in silence. The clicking noise fades in the opposite direction. Once far enough away, Catra lets out a sigh of relief.

—

“Adora, we need to sneak into Light Spinner’s personal library.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Adora says, her tone hushed even though they sit by the edge of the grassy cliff, far out of earshot for humans and hybrids alike.

“Look, Kyle, Lonnie, and Rogelio saw something they weren’t supposed to see, and I want to know what it was.”

“I don’t know if that is—”

“If you won’t join me, I’ll go by myself anyway.” If Light Spinner was hiding something in there, Catra wants to know what it might be.

Adora pauses, chewing her lip in that stupid, dorky way she does when contemplating a decision. She smiles. “Fine, but only if you color-bind our ration bars to be gray again for dinner.”

“Deal,” Catra replies. Gray did always taste better anyway.

—

Half an hour before midnight, the two sneak out of their shared dormitory. Melog slips between them, scurrying ahead of them, aware of their intended destination as they creep into Light Spinner’s secluded library. 

The reading alcove is a treasure trove of forbidden literature and knowledge. Light Spinner has insisted upon withholding formal studies until the young mages finish their cleansing rituals, only harnessing their dark magic powers after their purification.

Adora removes a dark green book from the lower shelf, beside the mahogany round table. _“The Path to Eternal Light_ ,” she whispers, flipping through the pages with her thumb. “Weird. It’s blank. No words at all.” 

“Of course it’s blank. Probably symbolizes purity or some bullshit.” Catra rolls her eyes and picks up another book hidden away on a lower shelf. “Keep looking.” Bound in burgundy, the book in her hands resembles one Light Spinner had taken from Lonnie’s hands.

_The Debts of Dark Magic Spellcasting_

Catra opens the table of contents. 

_Puppetry: The Art of Manipulations_

_Corruptive Curses_

_Duplication: An Emerging Theory_

_“_ Adora, come look at this,” Catra whispers and Adora rushes from her side, bumping into one of the wooden chairs and Catra gasps, ears pricked forward, alert for sounds of danger.

“Shit,” Adora mumbles.

“We’ll have to be quick,” Catra says. Light Spinner has a sixth sense for trouble, and they have already made too much noise for Catra’s comfort level.

Melog hops onto the round table and _meows,_ demanding attention. _Shit_ , _this is not going well._ Adora begins to pet Melog, scratching behind their ears to soothe them. “Keep petting them so they stay quiet. I’ll let you know if I find anything useful.”

Catra devours the chapter on manipulations and moves on to corruptive curses. She scours the pages, determined to take in every word, devoting the new knowledge to her memory. She turns to the third chapter about the theory of duplication when suddenly, Melog yowls, shattering the silence. 

“I thought you were taking care of Melog!” Catra whispers while Adora shrugs. 

The chill of a low voice hits her ears.

“You dare cross me?” Light Spinner says, and Catra drops the book onto the floor with a resounding _thud._

_How the hell did she sneak up on us?_

Melog rushes to Catra’s feet and lets out a softer meow. _I tried to warn you._ They don’t need to speak words for Catra to understand.

Catra feels her body shut down, shrinking into herself. “I’m sorry we read forbidden literature. You can just erase everything from our memories.” Her body tenses as she braces herself for the impending memory loss spell. She will have to try again another time. 

“Why would I erase your memories when there is a lesson to be learned?”

Catra’s stomach drops.

_Not another lesson._

_Fuck._

Light Spinner picks up the book from the floor with a curt laugh. “So you are curious about dark magic?”

It feels like a trap, but Catra finds herself nodding.

Light Spinner sets the book down on the table. “Dark magic is about power, and great power requires sacrifice. If you wish to practice dark magic you will need to understand the consequences of such realized power.” 

Light Spinner turns her attention to Adora who is frozen in silence. “Adora, dear, this is a lesson for Catra. You will sit quietly and watch.” She pulls out a wooden chair for Adora to sit.

“I don’t want a lesson. Please just erase my memories,” Catra pleads, hot tears welling in her eyes.

“Oh, but you have much to learn,” Light Spinner says, her cold, bony fingers cupping Catra’s cheek. She taps the wooden table. “Here, kitty.”  
  
Melog leaps onto the table and stretches their legs. 

“There is a price to pay when dealing with dark magic,” Light Spinner continues. “What are you prepared to sacrifice, Catra?”

Catra shuts her eyes. She doesn’t have _anything_ she is willing to give up, having lived her entire life in Light Spinner’s coven. All she has are Adora and Melog; worldly possessions are a rarity in the Fright Isles. Catra supposes she has a crimson headpiece she would consider giving up. Anything else is non-negotiable. 

“I bear a cursed wound.” Light Spinner exposes her bare forearm, a sickly open wound hiding underneath her white cloak. “It will require dark healing to be mended.” With the same arm, she begins to scratch behind Melog’s ears.

“No,” Catra whispers, Light Spinner’s intentions becoming more apparent. “No… no, _no._ I won’t do it.”

“Oh, but you will. Will it be Melog or Adora? You must choose.”  
  
“What’s happening? Catra—” Adora interrupts, fingers tapping on the wooden table. 

“Adora, this is not your lesson, dear,” Light Spinner scolds, and Adora closes her mouth in obedience, resigning to her fate. “You will remain quiet and let Catra choose.” 

This is not a choice Catra ever hoped to make. 

“Or what?” Catra snarls, face burning. “What if I don’t choose?”  
  
“Then I will make that choice for you,” Light Spinner threatens, eyebrows raised as she smiles under her red mask.

 _I’m sorry, Melog_ . Catra offers a final pet on the top of his head, and Melog nuzzles into her touch. They look into her eyes, a rare occurrence, but Melog seems to _know._

“Good,” Light Spinner says. “You will mirror my hand motions and direct Melog’s energy toward my wound.”

Catra nods, slow and solemn while Adora sinks her face into her hands, unable to watch. Catra can hardly stand to watch this unfold either.

Light Spinner raises her uninjured arm and Catra begins to mirror her movements, first draining away the energy that exists inside of Melog. The cat closes their eyes and sinks into the table, their body gone limp, and Catra refocuses their energy on Light Spinner’s wound to heal her.

Tears well in Catra’s eyes, and she tries to blink them back, but they fall out, hot and salty, pouring down her cheeks and streaming onto the stone floor. Adora has her head buried onto the wooden table, and Catra doesn’t blame her for not watching. 

Melog’s body collapses on the table.

“Fuck you,” Catra whispers as Light Spinner admires her freshly healed arm, _purified_ , as she would put it. “I fucking hate you.”  
  
Catra runs away from the reading alcove, desperate for air as she rushes out the first door to the nearby balcony. She takes short, wheezing breaths, tears falling from her eyes and sliding over the edge.

She sits down and curls her knees to her chest, nothing but the bellowing winds and pelting rain to keep her company.

\--

Once she can no longer bear the rain soaking through her robes and drenching her fur nor the chill of wind icing her bones, Catra opens the tower door and trudges down the hallway. She leaves a trail of wet footprints along her path to her shared dormitory with Adora.

As Catra approaches the open door, a dark, small creature pokes its head out then pounces into her arms.

“Melog?” Catra whispers in disbelief, squeezing the cat into her chest before she holds back, not wanting to crush them. She smiles, tears of elation mixing with droplets of rain on her face.

_Blessed gods, they’re alive._

Catra creaks open the door and shuts it behind herself. The room is dark so she lights a nearby candle to see Adora passed out on the lower bunk, her pillow soaked with fresh tears where her eyes lie.

Melog squirms in her hold, jumps out of her arms, and crawls into bed next to Adora, making biscuits before they settle by Adora’s arms. Catra approaches the bed, unsure if she should wake Adora but still wanting to check on her.

She sits on the edge of the bed to avoid soaking all of the sheets with rainwater and combs her fingers through Adora’s blonde locks, let down while she sleeps. Melog rubs the back of their head against Catra’s forearm. 

Adora’s eyelids flutter open and soft blue eyes meet Catra’s gaze. Once Adora’s eyes are open, Catra can see how sunken and worn they are. Melog purrs against Adora’s chest, and Adora glances at the cat, eyes going wide.

“Hey, you okay?” Catra tucks a strand of Adora’s hair behind her ear.

“Mm just… just tired,” Adora mumbles. She blinks slowly, eyelids weighed down and swollen. 

“What the fuck happened?” Catra whispers. “I thought...” She _swears_ she had taken all of Melog’s energy to heal Light Spinner’s wound, but Melog is sitting right here, tail thumping on the bed while Catra scratches behind their ear and on the top of their head. 

“Oh, I uh… I carried Melog back to our room after you left. They must have been unconscious after all,” Adora hums, speech slurred, and she nearly passes out again. She must be tired after their middle of the night outing, and Catra has no idea for how long Adora has been crying.

“You should get some sleep.” Catra rises from the bed and pulls up the covers around both Adora and Melog. She takes a moment to admire Adora like this, a soft snore rumbling from within her chest as she dozes off.

Whatever happened, it must have been another Light Spinner delusion, because Melog and Adora exist here, alive and well. Someday they will escape the coven for good, but for now they will have to persevere until after their cleansings.

_Someday, it’ll just be you and me. We’ll have each other and so much more._

* * *

**Adora (Now)**

Adora places one foot in the stirrup and presses herself up into Swiftwind’s saddle. She extends an arm down to Catra to pull her into the saddle.

Catra settles herself behind Adora, her front flush against Adora’s back.

“You ready?” Adora asks.

“As I’ll ever be.”

Just after daybreak, they embark on their journey. The orange sun peaks above the horizon, warm hues mixing with the reddish sands of the desert wasteland. Adora keeps her eyes peeled for enemies, but so far they have only seen a few small rattlers. As long as she can avoid any major conflict, Catra will be safe.

Catra wraps her arms around Adora’s stomach, and the pressure is oddly soothing. Adora rolls her shoulders back, relaxing into Catra’s hold. 

“Are you comfortable?” Catra asks, voice light and hot on the back of her neck. 

“Oh, extremely,” Adora says, and Catra’s hold tightens for a moment until she lets out a rumbling purr, vibrating through her steel back plate. 

“Good.”

By early afternoon, they arrive in the Valley of the Lost, just outside of the dark magic shop.

After dismounting from Swiftwind, Adora feeds him a few large carrots and they enter the shop. The door opens with a bell chime while the shopkeeper is turned away from them, attending to some items from behind the counter.

“Hello and welcome to the O’Valley of Plenty. How may I help you today?” The shopkeeper asks, their tone jaded through the rehearsed pleasantry. 

“You know why I’m here,” Catra says, stepping toward the counter.

“Oh, it’s you again,” they sigh, crossing their arms. 

“You two know each other?” Adora asks, glancing between the two of them. Catra bares her teeth and sighs.

“You could say that.” The shopkeeper smirks. “Your sorceress companion purchased a special bomb from my shop only a couple of weeks ago.”

“Shut it, Double Trouble,” Catra snaps. “Don’t do this now, please.”

Adora ponders this exchange, glancing back and forth between the two of them. She scratches the back of her own neck. “I think she uh... I think she tried to kill me with that bomb.” 

“Oh,” they say and pause, devilish grin widening. “That's a bit awkward, darling. Our last round of viridium bombs came out somewhat defective so consider yourself very lucky.” 

Adora stares at Catra, trying to read her expression, but Catra’s face is a blank slate.

“Just sell us the knife. I have the coin,” Catra says, dropping a sack of silver on the counter.

“As if I would sell this knife to just anyone… although,” they pause eyes flicking up and down Adora’s body. “You must be Adora of the Fright Isles, are you not?”

Adora nods.

They smile, revealing a sharp set of teeth. “Perhaps we can come to an agreement where we can both get what we want.”

“What is it?” Adora asks. Exchanges like this are trivial to her, part of the job. She would easily put her neck on the line if it means she can get that chip off Catra’s neck. They will both be much safer because of it.

“I am in dire need of a spa day. For months, the Mystacor bath house has been shut down because some Skells have claimed the place as their own. If you can take care of them, I will sell you my knife.” 

Catra groans and nearly pulls her hair out. “Let me get this straight. You’ll give us your enchanted knife provided Adora kills a few Skells… just so you can go back to your favorite bath house?”

“Yes, that would be correct.” They tap their fingers on the counter. “Do we have an agreement?”

“Yes,” Adora replies, earnest. This is it. Killing a few Skells is child’s play. They will be able to earn the tool Catra needs to slice off her manipulation chip in a short time.

“Gods, you’re a fucking diva,” Catra mutters, taking back her sack of silver and shoving it into the pocket of her jet-black cloak. 

“What can I say, darling?” Double Trouble drawls as they wave them out the door.

\--

“Wait outside, okay?” Adora tells Catra. The alcove just before the entrance to the bathhouse is decorated with white and sky blue tiles, held up by columns resembling ancient Mystacorian architecture. “I can take care of a few Skells no problem, but I’ll almost certainly have to turn. I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“Fine,” Catra grumbles and Adora smiles.

The steel reinforcements blocking off entry could prevent an average human from entering, although they would have a death wish to try, but Adora busts open the door with a sturdy kick. 

She enters a waiting room, which seems too quiet until she hears shuffling from the next room. Her surroundings become darker and _redder_ as she turns the corner, her muscles burning and twitching as they expand.

Roughly a dozen Skells peer from their place in the Mystacor pools, still in their white gowns, green eyes devoid of life, trained to _kill._

The crimson fog slips before her eyes as the Skells fade into dark silhouettes—targets. The Sword of Protection weighs down the palm of her hand as she sprints toward the nearest enemy, crushing it in a swift swing of her sword.

A blood-curdling scream rips from its throat as life leaves the vessel.

She takes down a few enemies, ghostly screams echoing on the tiled walls until she finds herself surrounded in all directions by the shadowy figures.

“Fuck,” she grunts as one lunges for her leg and _bites._ She swings at the enemy until another enemy grasps her arm, biting hard, taking her down. 

A few more of the shadows tackle her and one strips the sword from her hand. The room burns red, she feels hopelessly defeated as the shadows pile onto her.

_Hot._

_It feels hot._

One of the shadows is aflame, and it _screams_ as it loses its energy, collapsing to the floor, eliminated. Another enemy bursts into flames before her eyes. She hears several screams at once as the Skells are defeated, and she reaches for her sword, flung away from her, cool in her palm compared to the heat in the air.

Until there is only one shadow left.

“Adora,” the voice says. “It’s okay, it’s just me…”

She raises her sword, breath ragged. She needs to swing and eliminate the final threat.

“It’s Catra. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe.”

_Catra._

Adora shuts her eyes as the heat calms down, the red fades into the white and light blue tiles covering the room. A few Skell vessels lay lifeless, splayed around the pools of the main spa room. 

The sword falls from Adora’s hand.

Adora feels her legs collapsing underneath herself, and Catra rushes to catch her, setting her down gently on the floor.

“Hey, baby, it’s okay,” Catra whispers, wiping away a fresh tear rolling down Adora’s cheek. “They’re gone now.”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Adora whimpers and shuts her eyes, but it does nothing to stop the tears. “I thought you were going to wait outside.” 

“You needed help. It seems like there were more Skells than Double Trouble let on.” Catra frowns and sits beside her while Adora lies on her back, chest heaving as she tries to calm her body and mind.

“You saved me,” Adora says, looking at Catra, studying her mismatched eyes, observing her calm demeanor. 

_Would Shadow Weaver really want Catra to defeat members of her own army?_

“Maybe I did,” Catra mumbles and takes Adora’s hand in her own.

“You saved me,” Adora repeats, interlocking her fingers with Catra’s. She sits up so they face each other, sitting on the _now warm_ tile floor, still warm from the flames of Catra’s spellcasting. 

“Don’t think too much of it.”

“Maybe you are stronger than Shadow Weaver,” Adora says, “but I still think we should get that chip off you again… I don’t want to turn again on you.”

“Well, if I get it off, you can trust me again, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Adora says, warm tears of joy welling in her eyes. “I’d trust the real you with my life… I’m so glad you’re going to be safe. We’ll get that horrible chip off you...”

“Yeah,” Catra says with a weak smile. “We will.”

Adora shifts closer to hug Catra, holding her in her arms. Catra’s claws dig into her back, but Adora doesn’t care, pulling Catra closer to her chest. Adora has waited for this for seven long years—the first step to new beginnings. They take a moment to enjoy the calm after the fight, but something in Adora’s gut stirs.

Catra warned her that there would be a price to remove the chip with the enchanted knife. Adora is prepared to do whatever it takes to help Catra, at any cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LS/SW is a real piece of shit in this fic, but she gets what's coming for her. I promise that much


	4. Three Years...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw self harm: the mechanic is a bit unusual in its portrayal so i'm not sure it will be a trigger, but it involves the use of a knife for utility purposes where self harm is more of a consequence than the intention. 
> 
> please approach with caution regardless

“We had a deal,” Adora grunts, baring her teeth, temper rising to her burning eyes with flickers of red hues shading her vision. She is used to people cheating her out of payment, but this time is far too personal.

“Settle down, mutant.” Double Trouble smiles, revealing a set of sharp teeth. “I know the markings of corruption when I see them.”

Adora sees the bulge of her veins starting to protrude and feels rising heat in her chest. She shuts her eyes, manages to dampen the burning red flashes.

“Just  _ relax _ a little, darling. Maybe your Catra could serve you well to take some of that edge off.”

Adora’s eyes go wide, the heat in her body rising to her cheeks. “Wha—”

“Shut it, DT,” Catra groans from behind her. “Just give us what you promised. You’re so out of line.”

“Am I? I hadn’t realized,” they drawl, twiddling a lock of silvery-blonde hair between their fingers. “Does Adora even understand how this knife is intended to be used?” 

Double Trouble holds the palm of their left hand face up and presses the blade of the knife into it.

Adora gasps.

They drag it across with heavy pressure, but it leaves no markings or traces of blood as it strokes across semi-scaly flesh.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Catra growls, reaching for the knife, but Double Trouble flips it around their fingers with a mischievous giggle. “With its current enchantments, the knife cannot be used against its wielder,” she explains to Adora. “That’s why I need  _ you _ —or another person to help me.”

“Just take it already, darling. You’ll be paying the price soon enough.” Double Trouble winks at Adora, setting the knife down on the counter. Catra takes the weapon and sheathes it in her cloak pocket with a fierce scowl. “Now farewell, lesbians,” they say, ushering them both out of the magic shop. 

After a long day, the sun begins to set over the valley.

“Dryl’s a few miles out from here. It’ll be a safe place to perform the extraction,” Catra says as Adora mounts Swiftwind. “Just listen…don’t take either of the sorceresses there seriously. Especially the tall one who hugs.”

“Noted,” Adora says, a bit confused. She extends an arm to help Catra up behind her. 

\--

A few miles horseback journey from the Valley of the Lost, the monster hunter and sorceress arrive just outside of the fortress’s primary gate.

The Dryl coven could not be more visually distinctive from Bright Moon and Light Spinner’s covens. Tall, purple brick wall is separated by three towers in a triangular formation, surrounding a central glass dome.

Adora properly dismounts from Swiftwind at the primary gate into the fortress, and Catra leaps off the horse in her impatience. Adora has heard rumors about the sorceress Entrapta and her unusual student selection.

The mechanical pulley-gate lifts open, revealing two sorceresses waiting on the inside. Dozens of metal robots whir around behind them, and beside Entrapta stands one tall, broad-shouldered woman with dark-red pincers, short white hair and a smile even brighter.

“Wildcat!” she yells, beaming. She sprints toward Catra and scoops Catra into a tight hug. “So good to see you!” Still holding Catra in her arms, she turns to address Adora. “And you must be Adora. I’ve heard so much about you.”   
  
“Shut up,” Catra wheezes as the tall woman squeezes the life out of her. After some time, Scorpia eventually releases Catra after she has squirmed enough in her grip. 

“You have?” Adora asks, a bit incredulous. “I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are.”   
  
“Oh, she didn’t tell you about me?” The woman extends a pincer out toward Adora. “I’m Scorpia. It’s so good to meet you.”

Adora reaches to shake the woman’s pincer when she too is scooped into her own hug, lifted several feet off the ground. “Oh gods,” Adora manages to rasp out as the air is pushed out of her lungs. “How did you two meet?”

“Kind of funny story… or not so funny actually.” Scorpia frowns, setting Adora down gently.

“Scorpia, I’ll kill you if you keep going,” Catra groans, shoving her face into her hands.

Scorpia smiles even wider. “Wildcat has always had a great sense of humor. When we found her that day in Plumeria, she was… she was pretty sickly to say the least. But we nursed her right back to health!” Scorpia halfheartedly swings her arm. “It only took three years, but it was worth every minute.”

“Three years?” Adora’s jaw drops, and she looks over at Catra whose ears fall flat against her head. “This is where you’ve been...”

“Is that right, Entrapta? Three years?” Scorpia yells over her own shoulder.

“Today would mark three years, two weeks, and four days since we first met,” Entrapta says, her eyes glued to the notepad held by her long, lilac pigtails. Her eyes flick up for a moment, rich magenta eyes glancing between the three of them. “Don’t mind me… just taking detailed notes on this interaction.”

“Yeah… it’s true. Shadow Weaver still has a bounty on my head, and Entrapta’s coven is tracking-proof.” Catra takes Adora’s hand in hers. “C’mon, I’ll take you to my room.”

\--

Catra guides Adora through the labyrinth of hallways to her room where she’s apparently been hiding away for three years.

_ Three years. _

Three years Adora thought Catra was dead after the fall of Plumeria. Three years Adora spent isolated from her friends in Bright Moon, making a new life and a name for herself in the Waste. Three years Adora wondered if she’d ever get closure with Catra after all of the torment they endured in Light Spinner’s coven. 

For the first time, Adora really looks at Catra’s face. She sees Catra’s weary sunken lids, the wrinkles marking the outer corners of her eyes. The former bright spark of ambition in her amber and blue eyes has been dulled over by years of war and trauma.

A war she had no choice but to partake in.

Adora curls her hand into a fist, and she suppresses the rising burn in her chest. 

Catra stops for a moment, ears perked. She smiles at Adora.

“What?” Adora says with a nervous laugh.

A small creature with black fur prances from around the corner. When they recognize Adora, they break into a full sprint and leap into her arms. 

“Hey, little buddy. I missed you so much,” Adora hums as Melog lets out a rumbling purr in her arms, tail lashing violently and occasionally grazing against her cheek. “They’re alive… gods, you could have told me. I was too afraid to ask.”

Adora scratches behind their ear, beaming.

“They missed you too,” Catra says. There’s warmth in her gaze, her eyebrows pressed inward.

“We shouldn’t waste much time if Shadow Weaver is getting stronger like you said,” Adora says, placing Melog on the ground who  _ meows  _ in protest at being let out of her hold. She could pet Melog all day, but she needs to get that chip off Catra’s neck first.

“I don’t want that bitch to get in the way of you petting a cat.”

Melog meows in agreeance, and Adora chuckles. “More time for that later, Melog” Adora says, and for a moment she realizes she’s talking to a cat.

Catra opens the door to her room and Melog scurries after them, making themselves comfortable on the bed, tail still thumping with excitement. The room is fairly large, lavender wallpaper overlaid against the purple brick walls. A tall, arched window overlooks the Waste, high enough so that the crevice of the Valley of the Lost is visible from their vantage point. Two chairs are placed beside a desk set just below the window frame. 

Catra takes the chair on the right and gestures for Adora to join her in the other chair. 

“Look, I would never suggest this if we had a better option, but there’s only one other way I’d be able to get this thing off.” Catra’s throat rumbles into a growl. “Except it would be nearly impossible with her stupid alien-assassin army covering her ass.”   
  
Adora’s face hardens, realizing what Catra is refraining from implying. 

“We would have to kill Shadow Weaver.”

“Yes, and as long as Shadow Weaver’s spells are in their active states… like my glowing chip, your amnesia spell...” Catra runs her fingertips along the edge of the enchanted knife. “We can return the energy she stole back to where it belongs. We’d be able to reverse everything.”

“So that means the Heart of Plumeria could still be restored?” Adora asks.   
  
“Theoretically yes,” Catra whispers.

“My memories would come back too? Really?”    
  
“They would, but I—Adora, it's in your best interest that you don’t remember them. Besides, it was all seven years ago. It’s best to move on from the shit we went through.”

“Oh,” Adora sighs, remembering what Catra told her about the hooked scar on her face. That is certainly a memory best left behind, another remnant of the torment they endured in Light Spinner’s coven. 

It is only fitting that Shadow Weaver gave Adora this scar, after what Adora did to  _ her _ face the first time she ever transformed.

The black curtain guarding Adora’s prior memories marks the last day Light Spinner would be referred to by that name. From that day on, Shadow Weaver would don a full-length mask to hide her own set of scars dealt at Adora’s hand.

Adora wishes that Shadow Weaver took away the immediate aftermath of the incident, so Adora wouldn’t have to relive the visions of blood dripping down Shadow Weaver’s face or hear her violent screams echoing throughout the Fright Isles.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Catra mutters, placing a hand on Adora’s shoulder. 

Adora snaps out of her daze. “Fuck. I’m dangerous, Catra. I want to help but—”

“Adora, I trust you, but I know this is a really selfish thing to ask for.” Catra shuts her eyes tightly. “You know, it doesn’t matter. We don’t have to do this.”

“What do you mean? Of course it matters. I want to help, and I should be the one to help you do this after everything.”

“Are you sure?” Catra stares at her, one ear twitching.

“Catra, I was able to escape before I performed the cleansing ritual, and you weren’t. What happened to you could have happened to me too, but my mutation saved me.”  _ That’s a nicer, less graphic way of putting it. _ “And now it’s my turn to save you.”

“If you want to do this, you should understand the whole ‘price to pay’ deal that DT was running their mouth about. As much bullshit as Shadow Weaver has spewed, she  _ is  _ right that all dark magic comes with consequences,” Catra holds out the knife for Adora to admire, a black leather handle attached to a hands-length, dark-silver blade. “This weapon can cut through viridium  _ surely _ , but with that it has been reciprocally cursed. Whatever marks you draw on me will be drawn on yourself, Adora.”

Adora swallows for a moment, processing the nature of the curse. If she digs the knife into Catra’s neck, the point will be digging into her own. 

It’s a price she’s willing to pay for Catra’s freedom. 

“If you can do it, so can I.” If the knife has been reciprocally cast, they will face the same burden of pain.

“That’s not necessarily true. After everything Shadow Weaver made me do in Plumeria…I had a brief breakthrough from the hivemind, and I took drastic measures to make sure she couldn’t control me anymore. Because of what I did to myself, I also heal quickly.” 

Adora laughs nervously. “What did you do to yourself? Does that have something to do with you being sick for three years?”

“Let’s just say Shadow Weaver’s purity crap she drilled into our heads is complete bullshit. I’m harder to kill now than I’ve ever been.” Catra sighs and lets out a weak chuckle. “Sorry, I just realized how arrogant that sounds, but it’s true. This will hurt you more than it hurts me, Adora. It’s selfish of me to even ask you to do this.” Catra sets down the knife on the desk.

“Woah, what are you saying? We  _ should _ do this! I want to help you.”

“Really? You want to play the hero that badly?” Catra jabs, but there’s no bite in her tone.

“Not like  _ that, _ ” Adora sighs. “This is supposed to be about you.”

“It’s more than that. Getting this chip off means more than you could know. It’s a constant reminder of…” she swallows, no doubt a painful memory welling in her throat. “...of what she made me do and all of the people dead at my hands—from  _ her  _ sorcery. I  _ hate _ feeling out of control. I hated being her puppet,” Catra growls, claws edging into her desk, a single tear sliding down her cheek. “It shouldn’t matter so much to me, but it does.”

“Then I’ll do it.” Mismatched eyes lock with hers, soft and trembling, a weakness in Catra’s expression that Adora has never seen to this extent. “You deserve to be free of Shadow Weaver for good.”

“I deserve this,” Catra whispers, almost like she’s trying to convince herself it’s true. 

Because it  _ is.  _

“You do,” Adora repeats, taking Catra’s hand in hers.

“Thank you.” 

* * *

**Catra (8 years ago)**

Catra lies awake in the top bunk, because the longer she stays up the longer she can avoid confronting another round of nightmares.

The clicks of two distinct pairs of boots prick her ear, footsteps wandering down the adjacent hallway by their dormitory. She hears two voices—one belonging to Light Spinner and the other unrecognizable, low and alien. Most humans wouldn’t be able to overhear such a conversation, but she tilts her ears toward the source of the noise. 

“You do intrigue me, Prime. I’ve read about such theories before, but that is all that they were—theories.” From behind the bed, Catra peeks through a small crack in the brick lining. She sees Light Spinner’s eyes, lit up by the candlelight, but she sees something worse in them:  _ excitement. _ “The Heart of Plumeria carries enough energy to duplicate an army of thousands or even tens of thousands. With an army of Skells at your caliber of combat along with my select group of mages on our side, we can spread eternal light to the farthest corners of Etheria.” 

A tall creature bearing no resemblance to most Etherian species folds his fingers together. He dons a white cloak and long cape reaching his ankles, stopping just above the heels of his boots. “Ah, yes, but there is of course risk for defection. Such malfunctions can arise when casting duplications in these quantities.” Green eyes devoid of any trace of humanity blink back at Light Spinner. “To ensure the integrity of our hivemind, my duplicates will scream violently if they leave the network. We will catch these defections as they occur.”

“Brilliant,” Light Spinner muses, eyes shining brighter than the glint they held when she took away Melog’s energy. “All will conform to our message or else face the consequences of their departure.”

“Precisely,” the tall humanoid smiles, glowing green teeth peeking out from thin lips.

Catra shuts her eyes and crawls back under the covers.  _ So Light Spinner wants to drain the Heart of Plumeria... _

_ Just like she made me do to Melog. _

A chill snakes down her spine.

She needs to stop Light Spinner, if not for the sake of the other mages, then for the sake of all of Etheria. 

Maybe Catra can investigate the heart for herself. Maybe she can even destroy it before Light Spinner can get her hands on it.

Catra sighs, her chest tense, breaths shallow.

She knows she will go another night without sleep if she stays here like this, thoughts running wild in her restless mind. Fortunately, Adora has always been understanding of Catra’s anxiety and night terrors. 

Catra leaps from the upper bunk, landing on all fours to dampen the sound of her movement. She toes her way to the lower bunk, taking a moment to appreciate how Adora’s blonde hair, normally up in a tight ponytail, cascades down her shoulders in her sleep,

This is something only Catra gets to see. 

She lightly brushes Adora on the shoulder just enough to wake her without startling her. 

“Hey, is it okay if I uh… stay with you tonight?” Catra asks hardly above a whisper, voice wavering in her apprehension, even though they have a routine for this.

“Mm ‘course.” Adora hums, eyes fluttering in her groggy slumber. She pulls down the covers beside herself for Catra to join her in bed.   
  
Slowly, Catra crawls into the warmth of Adora’s bed, gradually pulling the covers over her body. A strong arm wraps around Catra’s waist, and another arm slides under her neck, keeping her close.

Catra breathes out a sigh of relief.

Even if she doesn't sleep tonight, there will at least be some part of being awake that she won’t hate.

Even if it’s entirely selfish how much she enjoys Adora’s breath heating the back of her neck, Adora’s scent draped over her, a protective layer of warmth and familiarity. She would have these arms around her every night if she could get away with it.

As the first wave of drowsiness crashes down on her, Catra feels so relaxed, she can almost forget how much she wants to kiss the girl holding her.

Almost.

Only one more year, and then they can both be free from this hellhole for good. 

Catra shuts her eyes. Maybe she will sleep tonight after all.

* * *

**Adora (Now)**

They both decide to go shirtless, neither wanting to stain their clothes with fresh blood. Catra looks away while Adora strips off her chestplate and undershirt, hanging them up in Catra’s closet. When Catra removes her black cloak, Adora finds herself unavoidably staring at her chest.

_ Gods, she is fatally attractive.  _ After years growing up together, now is not a great time for Adora to be coming to this realization. 

Catra smirks and Adora shakes her head quickly to ward off intrusive thoughts she hadn’t fully expected to feel at this moment.

“Concentrate, Adora,” Catra teases to lighten the mood, and Adora’s cheeks burn with fresh heat. 

“Y-yes, right,” Adora stammers. She watches as Catra adjusts the chairs one in front of the other. With Adora’s chains snug when she grips the knife, she presses forward in the air, testing the slack of the chains to ensure their tightness. “Feels secure to me.”

“Good.” Catra seats herself in front of Adora, her tail brushing against Adora’s thigh for a brief moment.

_ Everything is fine.  _

At her own insistence, Adora has secured the viridium shackles to restrain herself to the bedside wall. In a matter of minutes, Entrapta had been able to engineer a setup not unlike the one Adora had used in the Waste.

Shadow Weaver’s chip glows bright, and Adora traces its viridium hooks with the tip of her finger to build some muscle memory before she works the cursed knife. She will have to cut about a dozen hooks to remove the chip from Catra’s neck.

“I’m ready whenever you are,” Catra says, her casual tone betrayed by the muscles in her neck tensing as she braces for the knife. She leans back to make sure Adora can reach her, even with chains bound to her wrists.

“Let’s do this,” Adora says. Her mouth hangs open, and her eyebrows furrow in her concentration as she slowly presses the tip of the blade into Catra’s neck.

“Fuck.”

“Ow.”

They wince simultaneously, and Adora grits her teeth in as she slices through the viridium hook and flesh with surprising ease. A few drops of Catra’s blood coat the knife, but Adora feels a steady stream of blood pouring down her own neck. 

“Keep going,” Catra says as Adora works her way clockwise through each of the hooks. “As quickly as you can.” Catra’s blood loss is far less than her own, as only minutes after the wound is cut, silvery scars form where Adora has made her cuts.

With each passing second, the blood is quite literally leaving Adora’s head, and the room begins to spin in her daze.

“Almost done,” Adora slurs, only a few hooks left. The room begins to darken but she blinks quickly, working her way through it. The tingle of pain heightens into a harsh burn as the adrenaline shock begins to wear off. “Fuck.”

There’s one hook left, and Adora can feel the light leaving her eyes. She drags the knife through the final viridium hook and slips into the darkness.

\--

When Adora wakes, she’s horizontal in a bed and surprisingly without pain. She groans, her arm moving aimlessly until her hand latches onto a warm thigh.

It only takes another moment for Adora to realize she is unchained and her head is resting in Catra’s lap, one of Catra’s hands combing through her hair. Catra must have cast a pain relief spell for her. Adora reaches a palm to touch the back of her own neck. 

“Careful,” Catra whispers, grabbing Adora by the wrist. “You’re going to ruin your bandage, dumbass.”

“Oh shit,” Adora sighs, pressing her face closer to Catra’s stomach. “Thank you.”

“You did this for me, Adora. I’m supposed to be the one thanking you,” Catra murmurs with a soft chuckle, running her fingers through Adora’s hair.

“Mm, I like when you touch my hair,” Adora mumbles, and she feels Catra’s hand tense in place. Adora looks up to see Catra’s eyes wide open.

“Sorry, I should have asked first. I didn’t mean to assume it was okay." Catra moves her hand to rest on the bed.

“No, you can keep going. Please,” Adora insists, curling her legs inward, nuzzling closer to Catra’s stomach. 

“Well, since you were nice enough to literally stab yourself in the neck for me, I’ll do you a favor. Only because you’re so cute.” Catra clears her throat. “Umm—”

“So you think I’m cute, huh?” Adora huffs. She closes her eyes as Catra resumes stroking through her hair.

“I’ll bandage your damn mouth shut. Don’t encourage me.”

Adora laughs and curls her body closer to Catra’s lap.

Just this once, if things could stay the way they are, Adora would be eternally grateful.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to @BisexualTrashFire for beta-reading!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/lifeisgay69)


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